


ARROW, Inc. Ficlets

by marieadriana



Series: ARROW, Inc. Supplemental Material [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Clumsy Clint Barton, Multi, Romance, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-12-31 08:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12128775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marieadriana/pseuds/marieadriana
Summary: These ficlets are intended as block-breakers when working on my main stories starts to strain my brain.  They will be scenes dotted about from the series – most can be read alone, but if you are not familiar with Gaia and Her role in the triad’s life, it may be a tad confusing.





	1. Operation: Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in February 2011, between ‘Christmas with the Coulsons’ and ‘Rings Within Rings’

Natasha had been standing in the greeting card aisle of the grocery store for twenty minutes, which was roughly six thousand times longer than she wanted to be there. It should have been a routine mission – she just needed a card. Or two cards, since there didn’t seem to be a Hallmark card for a woman to give her two husbands.

Really, all of these cards were… atrocious. She might occasionally think phrases like “You Make Life Complete” but seeing it in gold foil embossing was just – no. 

She’d rather have her toenails pulled out with a pair of pliers than hand either of her husbands one of these cards – but according to her research, a card was required.

It was their first Valentine’s Day as a triad. She’d never had occasion to celebrate it before, so she’d consulted the internet, which turned out to be an absolute nightmare. When she did finally find something straight-forward, she copied down the list – card, chocolate, candles, romantic dinner, and maybe something new to try in the bedroom.

Simple, right?

The chocolate was easy. Clint wasn’t picky about the form his sugar came in – it was Phil that was the one who made most of the culinary decisions. She’d called Diane and found out his favorite kind of cake, and ordered one from a bakery that she’d had office birthday cake from before. According to her mother-in-law, chocolate stout cake involved Guiness beer, which meant it would be doubly appreciated by Clint. So that meant the chocolate was taken care of. She’d placed an order for delivery from an Italian restaurant, ordering dishes she’d seen Phil and Clint consider on the menu but never order. It would be delivered tonight, promptly at seven – she had three hours left to find cards, candles, and maybe something for the bedroom.

She wasn’t certain she’d make it. Not just on time – at all. She was near both tears and homicidal violence, a combination that was entirely unwelcome.

It didn’t help that the only other people staring at the rack of cards were men – frantic looking men. Why was she the only wife?

One of the harried men caught her puzzled look. “You know, he won’t care if you don’t get him a card,” he told her. It was probably meant kindly but felt patronizing on her already frayed nerves.

“He won’t?” Natasha tried to keep from scowling, because information from an actual normal married man would be helpful, and she didn’t want to scare him away.

“Not even a little,” one of the other men agreed fervently.

Natasha pondered that. Independent corroboration was important – and she saw a couple of the other men nodding too. “Okay. I’ve never… done Valentine’s Day.”

“Food,” one of them supplied.

“Alcohol,” another offered, which prompted laughs from all of them. Natasha made a note of that – alcohol hadn’t been on the list she’d found online. Did she have to try and find a wine that paired with chocolate stout cake, or with Italian? Or should she just get Guiness to go with the cake?

One of the older men – older than Phil, but probably not as old as his father – smiled at her, and this time she did feel it as kindly. “Newlywed?”

“Two months,” she admitted. She twisted her wedding ring on her finger.

“My wife and I have been married thirty-three years,” he told her. “She likes getting a card, so I get her a card. I’ll buy her roses next week when they go on sale, because she’ll be irritated if I pay inflated prices for them. She’ll make my favorite pie, and give me a card that I’ll read and put away in a shoebox full of them. I keep the card because it makes her happy. If your man doesn’t want a card, and you don’t feel the need to give it to him, that’s okay. There are plenty of other ways to tell him you love him.” He smiled again, this time with a suggestive twinkle in his eyes. “Or show him.”

Natasha smiled back, letting some mischief creep into it. “I can do that.” She regarded the rack of cards again, then nodded to herself and crossed that item off her mental list. “Thanks.” She ducked out of the aisle before she could get foolishly appreciative of the advice.

She left the grocery store without adding anything to her bags, and headed instead to a small specialty shop.

~ * ~

Phil was the last one home, and he wasn’t happy about it. He’d wanted to get out of the office early today to finish preparations for their first Valentine’s Day together, but a situation had come up that apparently only Agent Coulson could manage.

It wasn’t easy to plan a Valentine’s Day surprise when your husband and wife were both professional spies. Phil wasn’t ashamed to admit that they were better at the Great Game… but he had a slight edge in this enterprise – he’d celebrated the holiday with a partner before, and neither of them had.

He’d asked, over dinner one night last week, if they wanted to do anything for the 14th. They had exchanged glances and probably telepathic comments before deferring to his wishes. It wasn’t something they needed, they told him. They knew he loved them, and didn’t need a holiday to prove it. Clint remarked on the commercialization and Natasha on the overt sentimentality.

Phil knew better than to believe them.

His beloved wife needed to reminded of how deeply he cared for her – how intensely both he and Clint cherished every moment she let them share with her.

His beautiful husband needed to be reminded of how incredibly attractive he was, and how giddy with desire both he and Natasha found themselves when he accepted their praise.

That was his mission.

He slid out of his suit jacket, kicked off his shoes, and locked the deadbolt in smooth, practiced motion – before noticing that there were candles lit. Everywhere. 

With a grin, he started looking for his spouses. Poking his head into the dining room, he was startled into laughter. One end of the table was set with white linen and crystal dishware bearing pasta in white sauce. The other end of the table had white dishware and a purple tablecloth, and was arrayed with elaborate sushi.

Apparently he didn’t need to make dinner after all.

There were roses in a vase in the living room – a dozen white ones, which didn’t help him determine who’d bought them. Probably Clint – Natasha would have found purple ones, or gone with traditional red.

Upstairs, he found more candles, and a trail of… were those really rose petals? He picked one up, curious, and discovered it was sugared. If there were sugared rose petals in the hallway, what were the chances he’d get to eat some of them off the body of his beloved?

Eager now, he entered the bedroom.

It was empty.

“Nat? Clint?”

“We’re in the bathroom,” came Natasha’s response, and she sounded irritated.

He pushed into the small bathroom and paused to fully appreciate the sight. Natasha was nude, save for ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ written in chocolate sauce on the flat plane of her stomach. She looked unharmed, but Clint…

Clint had managed to scorch his hair and part of an ear. 

“Are you alright?” Phil asked, taking the cool washcloth from Natasha and leaning over to inspect the burn.

“Oh, I’m fucking peachy,” Clint grumbled. “Who the fuck decided open flame was sexy?”

“People without electricity,” Natasha told him with forced calm. “Stop bitching. You’re the one that lit them. My plan involved sugar instead of fire.”

Phil couldn’t help himself, and started to laugh. “Mine involved wine, dancing, and a boudoir photo shoot.” He reached out and took one of each of their hands, pulling them to him.

“Did we really all try to surprise each other?” Clint asked, burrowing his head – carefully avoiding the burn – into Phil’s neck.

“Apparently,” Natasha answered dryly, tucking herself into Phil’s other side. He decided he didn’t even care that she was getting chocolate sauce on his suit.

“I love you both,” Phil murmured. His voice had deepened, and he clasped them more tightly against him. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves.”


	2. I Lost A Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in April 2011, between ‘Rings Within Rings’ and ‘Battle of the Biceps’

It wasn’t every day that SHIELD headquarters was exposed to an unknown airborne compound… but it was often enough that the procedure was more irritating than frightening.

When the klaxon sounded, Phil headed towards the nearest decontamination shower, pleased to find Clint in the same queue. Natasha was with him as well, giving them a slight smile. The decon showers were coed – partitioned for privacy, but SHIELD had seen no reason to build separate facilities for what was supposed to be a rarely used function.

Natasha, as unselfconscious as always, was stripping out of her clothes and tossing them into the orange hazmat bins before she’d barely crossed the threshold. Clint did the same, carefully keeping his eyes off his wife.

Phil… froze.

Clint raised an eyebrow in his direction as other agents spilled around Phil. If his husband had been anyone but the famed Agent Coulson, there probably would have been some nasty comments about interrupting the flow of traffic, but no one reaction in any way other than to navigate around him like the Rock of Gibraltar. 

“Sir?” Clint asked carefully. “Are you feeling some symptoms?”

Fleetingly Phil wished he could lie and say yes – anything to avoid this. Instead, he closed his eyes briefly before shaking his head. “No, Agent Barton.” Phil began undressing, handling his clothes with his customary neatness despite their destination in another hazmat bag. When he was down to his socks, he paused. There were still too many people around. He couldn’t – but then, he had to, didn’t he?

He stripped both socks off and tossed them into the bin atop his suit, stepping into one of the narrow shower cubicles. The water was still warm and there was plenty of soap available, so he followed proper decontamination procedure from scalp to heel before stepping back out and reaching for a towel.

Natasha handed him one silently, one eye brow quirked. She wanted to know what had upset him – what or who, so that she could deal with it. Violently, if necessary. Phil shook his head to tell her she needn’t defend him.

Clint handed him a sealed package of decon clothes – underwear, socks, and a set of garments much like hospital scrubs. Phil reached for the socks first, hoping he’d be able to slip them on before anyone – 

“Agent Coulson?” a surprised voice came from behind him. “Is that… blue toenail polish?”

“It matches his eyes,” Natasha said calmly, her attention turning to Agent Verley. He was senior enough that intimidation tactics were unlikely to work on him – but confusion might.

“I lost a bet,” Phil said through clenched teeth, glaring at Natasha briefly before leveling his Agent-Coulson-Is-In-Charge look at Agent Verley. 

“Must have been a hell of a bet, sir,” the Agent replied, stepping backwards. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

“Good.” Phil finished dressing, ran his hand through his rapidly drying hair, and fixed the other agent with another gaze. “I don’t want to hear this spoken of at the watercooler, Agent.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.” The other agent fled as soon as he was dressed.

Phil set out for his office, unsurprised that his spouses were following him. He shut the door to his office and leaned against it. “I told you painting my toenails was a bad idea,” Phil muttered to Clint.

“Are you kidding?” Clint’s grin was blazing. “Right now, Verley is trying desperately to figure out what you bet and who you bet with – it just adds to the legend of Agent Coulson, Moonbeam.”

“You are an imp,” Phil told him, but held out his arms. Soon he had one spouse cuddled under each arm, their warmth welcome in the thin garments.

“I guess it’s a good thing he was too distracted by yours to realize we all match,” Natasha murmured.

“If our triad gets outed by ice blue nail polish…” Phil began, attempting to sound threatening. It wasn’t working, as a laugh was bubbling up. 

Clint nuzzled into Phil’s neck. “I’m really looking forward to the looks on people’s faces, someday.”


	3. Rock, Paper, Scissors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene from Chapter 27 of ‘Battle of the Biceps’.

Angie and Lance were sitting next to each other in front of a computer monitor, carefully avoiding eye contact. Chuck’s voice on speakerphone was tired. “Damn it, I don’t care who wakes them up – one of you has to get down to the motel and get AC and Barton up here on the double. They need to see those results, and I’m not breaking surveillance just because you two are chicken-livered.”

“What if they’re… occupied?” Angie asked.

“What are you, twelve? Knock on the fucking door, and keep knocking until one of them answers it. They haven’t answered their cells, but it’s a damned sight harder to ignore someone at the door.” Chuck’s response was spit out with Marine venom, and Lance winced.

“Okay. We’ll… figure it out,” Lance said, and ended the call before Chuck could land another verbal punch.

“You hung up on Chuckles.”

“I did not. I ended the phone call with alacrity,” Lance corrected loftily. “Now. Who’s going down there?”

Angie glared at him. Hers wasn’t as good as one of Chuck’s, but it still had some power. “Random number generator?”

“There’s no such thing as true random,” Lance said automatically, which she’d expected. “Coin toss?”

“Not a chance. I’ve seen you doing those magic trick things.” Angie’s eyes narrowed. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

Lance’s eyebrows rose. “Seriously? I’m agreeing with Chuckles. What are you, twelve?”

She held out a closed first over an open palm. “Shove it, Lancelot. Best two out of three.”

Obediently, he tossed a pair of scissors, which her rock smashed. He wrapped her next rock with paper, but groaned when her paper wrapped his rock on the final round. “Damn it, Angie.”

“They like you better anyway,” Angie told him sweetly.

He fought the urge to stick out his tongue at her… barely.


	4. The Other Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m not going to lie – this ficlet got written today because I noticed my total word count was at 199,412 and I really, really wanted to see it tick over into 200K. 
> 
> It’s also a little gift for my sounding board K – not as steamy as we plotted, but fun nonetheless.
> 
> Takes place in late June 2011, between ‘Battle of the Biceps’ and ‘Fun Lessons for Auntie Nat.’

It was a semi-annual indulgence that it never occurred to Phil would change after marriage.

The sun was barely kissing the sky pink when he slipped out of the house in nondescript jeans and a navy-blue t-shirt. He’d added his sunglasses and a hat to the ensemble and grinned at his reflection – Clint had bought it for him, and it had a print of Captain America’s shield on the front.

He drove to the rendezvous point in anxious anticipation, and catching sight of her, felt the grin spread across his face. Yes. He’d missed her – missed this.

Phil slipped a folded bill to the man who greeted him, nodding politely but his attention fixed firmly elsewhere. Already his mind was on her – his red beauty of the dangerous curves.

He caressed her gently and, rubbing his hands together in delight, began the delirious joy of taking her apart.

~ * ~

“Nat. Get up. Now.” Clint’s voice was harsh, and it echoed inside her head as well.

“What the hell?” she grumbled, but the look on his face halted her complaint. “What is it?”

“Phil’s not here.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Okay? He’s probably at the office.”

“He isn’t. And I’m… itchy.”

Son of a bitch. Natasha rolled out of bed and grabbed the nearest clothing. “You ask Gaia?”

“She just told me to wake you, and find him. I was hoping you’d track his phone.” Clint was pacing, rubbing absently at his forearm where his wrist guard normally sat.

“I will, if you promise to stop pacing. And for goodness sake,” she said, grabbing him as he moved past her. “Put some pants on.”

Clint blinked at her and looked down at his very naked body. “Huh. I hope the neighbors were still in bed when I went out back.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and trotted down the steps, grabbing her tablet from where it sat by the couch in the living room. Within moments – really, it was disturbingly easy once she’d had Angie write an app for them – she had GPS coordinates and was programing them into her phone. “Come on, Clint,” she called up the steps, and he thundered down them behind her. They stepped into the garage, only then realizing Phil had taken the SUV, and they hadn’t checked a sedan out of the motor pool. Cursing, Natasha checked the distance. “It’s about five miles as the crow flies – I say we run it.”

He agreed immediately. After loading their tactical gear into pockets and bags that would pass a civilian’s casual glance, they set off at a steady jog in the direction of their achroi ghra. They were running above the usual jogger’s pace, but not so fast as to draw attention – and with the sun barely an hour up, there weren’t that many people out to observe them anyway.

Natasha signaled a halt as she caught sight of the building she suspected was their destination. It was a modest ranch home with an attached two car garage and a second detached garage in the back. Clint slid in beside her, taking note of the placement of the SUV – blocking view of the detached garage.

{What the hell is he doing here?} Clint asked her telepathically.

{I have no idea… but in my experience, detached buildings make pretty secure holding chambers.} Her voice was grim.

{He wouldn’t just walk into a holding cell, Sunshine. He’s not an idiot.}

She glared at him. {The last time you got itchy for Phil, he’d been dosed with drugs at a bar and been arrested.}

He flinched. {Point. You lead – I’ll cover.}

Together they crept across the yard, darting from small bush to barbeque, using whatever for cover they could. When they reached the building, Natasha noticed the door was rolled all the way up, and she could hear rhythmic, metallic noises. It didn’t match any torture devices she’d experienced, and she didn’t like the idea of some new device being tested out here.

{On my mark – you’re high, I’m low,} Natasha commanded, crouching at the edge of the open garage door. {Now.}

In perfect unison, they swung weapons and eyes to bear on the open door, and froze.

Phil lay on his back on the stained concrete, but his attention wasn’t on them. He had eyes only for Lola. He’d been at it long enough to have worked up a thin sheen of sweat, molding his t-shirt to his chest. His jeans – a pair neither of them recognized – were grease stained and torn. He hummed as he worked, occasionally making a comment to the car, praising her virtues.

Even as they holstered their weapons, Clint and Natasha felt their brains go offline. Phil in jeans was a treat. Phil in dirty jeans was a rarity. Grease monkey Phil was a unique – and stimulating – vision.

“I tell you, Lola, your curves are almost as good as my wife’s,” he was saying to the undercarriage. “If I had to pick between you, my wife, or my husband… well, I’m sorry Lola, but you’d be staying here in the garage.”

“Damn right,” Clint said, his voice hoarse with arousal.

Phil rolled out from under the car – they just now noticed the rolling mechanic’s dolly, as they’d been far too preoccupied with their husband to notice such trivialities – and gazed up at them. “Hi.” His grin was boyish. “Did you want to join me? I didn’t think either of you were into cars.”

“We’re not,” Natasha agreed, letting her knees fold, reaching for Phil. “So not.”

“But by the Goddess and all She finds holy, you are the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen,” Clint said reverently, sinking on Phil’s other side.

Phil tried to laugh it off, but that lasted all of thirty seconds when their hands touched him – and he was no longer thinking about oil changes or timing belts or even Lola’s delicious, dangerous curves – just of making love to his husband and wife on the floor of his Ranger buddy’s garage, with the smell of grease in the air.


	5. Because

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during ‘United Front’ in December 2011.

Maria stepped into the bar, scanning the patrons until she caught sight of a blonde ponytail – alone, at the bar, with an array of empty shot glasses in front of her.

So her gut had been right again.

She made her way through the bar until she was standing next to the blonde. “That’s some pretty serious drinking,” Maria observed neutrally to Misty.

Without making eye contact, Misty agreed. “Sure as hell is.” She tossed back another shot, set the empty glass down neatly on the bar next to the others, and slumped in her seat. “Why are you here, Hill?”

There were a lot of possible answers to that, but Maria felt that Misty deserved the truth. “Because I fear the wrath of Coulson if something happens to you.” At Misty’s disbelieving snort, she sat down on the next barstool and gestured. “I’ll have a Coke,” she advised the bartender.

“Designated drivers drink free at my bar, and I’m hoping you’re here to take care of her,” he said quietly as he poured her drink. “She’s been in here two hours, and I’d have expected most chicks her size to be under the table by now.”

Maria took the Coke, nodding her thanks. She waited until he’d moved away before she spoke to Misty again. “Two hours, huh? That’s beyond Barton-esque.”

“Look, if you’re here in some official capacity – I’m not an idiot, I’m going to call a cab.” For someone who’d been drinking steadily for two hours, Misty didn’t sound impaired. “I’m off tomorrow, so it doesn’t matter if I work up a wicked hangover. It won’t affect the job.”

“Not here as an agent, grasshopper.” Maria’s voice dropped, and in another person might have been considered soft. “Like I said, I had a gut feeling. When I tried your apartment and you weren’t home – ”

“Jesus, Maria. Stalking me now?”

“I was worried.” Maria kept her tone level. “As clan kin, not a coworker.”

Misty’s resistance evaporated, and her slumped shoulders shook once as she tried to control her emotions. “I’m… I’ll be fine.”

“What happened?”

Misty slid her gaze to the side to meet Maria’s. For a moment she didn’t speak, just weighing options in her mind. “I’ll tell you. But not here.”

“You got it.” Maria fished out her wallet and left the bartender a generous tip – Misty had apparently been paying cash throughout her stay, because she merely added some cash to the pile between shot glasses and followed Maria out of the bar.

They were silent in the car. Misty didn’t even ask where they were going. Maria parked in her assigned place and gestured to the silent blonde to follow her. In deference to the amount of alcohol she’d consumed, Maria led Misty to the elevator rather than having her walk the seven flights to her apartment. Once inside, she closed and bolted the door out of habit and turned to face Misty.

The younger agent was looking around at Maria’s apartment with curiosity. Despite a growing friendship, Misty had never been invited here before, and found the space… bare. Impersonal. 

“I’m not here much,” Maria said defensively, notice Misty’s scrutiny.

“I know.” Misty headed for the couch, sinking into it with a long sigh. “At least it’s comfortable.”

Maria didn’t tell her she’d picked it for that reason – she wound up falling asleep on it more often than she slept in her bed. “So.” Maria sat down on the other end of the couch, turning sideways so that she could look directly at Misty. “What happened?”

“Why do you even care?”

“Because you’re part of my teaglach, and you’re hurting. Answer, please.”

Misty bit her lip and stared down into her hands. “I visited my mom today. Semi-annual duty visit.” She wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed. “I hate it. I can’t – I don’t know why I still bother, but I can’t – ” To Misty’s complete mortification, tears sprang up and she couldn’t seem to will them away.

Maria went with her gut. Slowly – so that Misty could move away if she needed to – Maria edged close enough to the blonde to put an arm around her shoulders. Taking the opportunity, Misty burrowed her head into Maria’s neck and sobbed.

When the tears ebbed, Misty pulled back and wiped her eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Maria dug in a pocket until she found a tissue and offered it to the squad leader.

“Why are you being all… Clint… on me?” Misty burst out.

“Because you need somebody, and the usual suspects are across the globe in Ireland,” Maria replied calmly. At least, she hoped it came out calm – she was feeling a little shaky. “Your mom is in a care facility, right?”

Misty slumped back down against Maria. “Yeah.” She waited for another question from the senior agent but when one didn’t come, she sighed and spoke. “She doesn’t recognize me anymore. Not even to think I’m a relative or something. Even that was better than her asking if I was her new nurse.” Her throat closed and she had to take several deep breaths. “I just wanted to drink until it didn’t hurt anymore.”

“You do that after every visit?” Maria asked, her arm still around Misty’s shoulders. She didn’t pull the blonde closer for a cuddle, but she didn’t increase the physical distance between them, either. 

“Pretty much.” The alcohol appeared to be catching up to her, because Misty had to fight a yawn. “I should have done it before Nascha and Cuz and Sensei left for Ireland.”

“You think it would be easier if someone else went with you?”

“I don’t really think it could get harder.”

“And you didn’t think anyone else would go with you? Me, or one of the other Scoobies?”

Misty frowned. “Why would you go with me? Why would you care?”

“Barton would put a bullet in my brain and an arrow in my eye if he thought I wasn’t willing to support you, grasshopper.”

“I shouldn’t need the damn support. I’m a grown woman. I’m a damned Agent of SHIELD. I should be able to fucking handle it,” Misty growled.

“Nobody says you gotta handle it alone.”

“You’re one to fucking talk.” It appeared the alcohol had loosened Misty’s tongue, even if she wasn’t showing much impairment. “Jesus, Maria. When was the last time you let somebody else help you?”

“This isn’t about me,” Maria redirected, shifting uncomfortably. “Look, I’m just saying you could have come to me. Asked me to go with you. I’d have made time.”

“Why?”

Maria rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “Because. Just because. Look, you’re in no state to go home – you want to borrow some sweats and sack out here?”

Disoriented by the sudden change of subject, Misty nodded. Maria disappeared into the bedroom, returning with a t-shirt and sweatpants for Misty. She pointed out the bathroom before stepping into the kitchen to grab several bottles of water. If Misty didn’t hydrate, she’d have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.

When she returned to the living room, Misty was sitting back on the couch in her borrowed sweats. The animosity had disappeared and she now looked… unsure. Maria offered her a bottle of water. “Drink up. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

“I’m thanking you now,” Misty said. Her tone was no longer argumentative, but she wasn’t herself yet either. She drained half the bottle and set it down, folding her hands in her lap. “You’re right,” she told the senior agent finally. “I should have asked somebody to go with me. I’m not used to there being people for me to ask.”

Maria sat down on the couch next to her, close enough to be comforting but she hoped not close enough to be irritating. “Yeah. Me too.” She reached for the TV remoted and flicked through channels until she found something neither of them hated. Gradually, Misty’s tension eased and she relaxed into the couch, leaning against Maria’s shoulder. Maria kept still, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace.

“Would you…” Misty began, then coughed in embarrassment. “This is going to sound lame but… would you stay with me? I… don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Maria promised. She let her arm creep around Misty again, tucking the blonde against her own body. It wasn’t sexual, but it was intimate.

“I still don’t get why,” Misty mumbled as she drifted off into sleep.

Maria waited until she was sure the blonde was asleep, cradled in her arms, before she spoke. “Because you’d do it for me, bunny.”

~ * ~


End file.
